


Sincerely, Yours

by MagiCraft



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M, Miscommunication, Mistaken Identity, Mutual Lust and Loathing, Nicknames, Romance, Saving Ohno for a sequel, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 15:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13438182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagiCraft/pseuds/MagiCraft
Summary: Aiba thinks he has found the perfect guy. Good-looking, kind and a great cook, and so very charming. While their busy schedules keep them apart, they spend a lot of time getting to know each other. At some point, he will have to remember to ask his name, right?





	Sincerely, Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sky_fish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_fish/gifts).



> This was written for the Aiba Exchange 2017.  
> This version has a slightly extended ending that pushes the limits of the 'T' rating (so I've rounded up to an 'M' to be safe).

 

The sun wasn’t up when Aiba opened his eyes to the unfamiliar scene from a stranger's bed. His head ached, his throat was dry to the point of pain and there was a crick in his neck from pillows piled a little too high. Habit had woken him before the dawn, but it was apprehension that kept him from burrowing deeply back under the comforter to nurse his hangover. That, and a few other pressing concerns: Like how little he remembered of the previous night. Well, no, he remembered quite a lot really, just not in any detail or the correct order.

There had definitely been a club Aiba would never have entered without Kazama’s encouragement. And a ‘Seven Shot Special’ which was probably meant for larger groups than just a pair of thirty-something bachelors trying to remember how to party. Then there had been a guy, watching him from across the bar. Aiba had thought the sharply handsome man was pissed at him until later, on the dance floor, when a lopsided smirk had transformed the judgemental look to one of appreciation.

After that, things were even less coherent.  At some point, there were more – less colourful – shots. A shouted conversation with Kazama that he had barely heard or understood before the man left with two pretty, young women in tow. Thumping music and dancing. The man from the bar. The lopsided smirk. His lips. Kissing.

Oh. The _kissing_. The memory returned in a wave; vivid and strong, like a cool slap against his fevered cheeks. The cold sweat didn’t last long however, because the images his mind conjured were decidedly hot. Warmth washed over him. Aiba couldn’t even remember his name, or whether he had bothered to ask for that matter, but he knew he was not in his own apartment. He was also fully dressed, which was both a relief and a surprise, given his memory of their encounter: It had absolutely been headed in a very specific direction, and it was a shame if they never went there together. Mr Tall-Dark-and-Sexy had been _gorgeous_.

The obnoxious trill of the alarm on his phone filtered dimly to his ears, and Aiba thought he imagined it for a moment, except the distant sound was followed by a louder clatter and a series of curses before it fell silent again. The bedroom door swung open, and Aiba learned what true annoyance looked like painted across the other mans features. Although his expression changed upon seeing that Aiba was already awake. “Your alarm?” He asked groggily, holding up the phone so Aiba could see that it had been snoozed.

“Sorry. I forgot to turn it off.” Aiba ducked his head in apology and immediately regretted the action. His brain seemed to slide around his skull and thundered inside his head.

Once the man had confirmed that Aiba was not going to be late for work or some other appointment, he disappeared from the doorway to make coffee, inviting Aiba to join him if he liked. Still feeling delicate, but too awkward to loiter in another mans bed, Aiba dragged himself from the comfort of the plush mattress and followed.

They were both in yesterday’s clothes, rumpled and hungover, waiting for the coffee maker to finish in silence, but eventually, Aiba had to break the strange tension. “So… last night was fun?”

His nameless host cracked a smile at that; his thick, groomed eyebrows used to good effect to display his amused agreement. “It’s too bad it had to end at midnight, Cinderella.”

Aiba flushed. He might not remember the details, but he could guess. It had been such a long time since he had had the time to really let loose, and he really hadn’t paced himself at all when he and Kazama first arrived at the club. He explained this to the man in front of him, as the pair got reacquainted and more comfortable in each others presence, the morning after the night before.

The caffeine certainly seemed to help Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Sexy’s disposition, and the man was positively charming as he explained he’d have to leave for work in a few hours. “The thing is, Cinderella-san,” his wide, full lips pulled into a grin. “I’ve got this project coming up which could really propel the business forward. So, I’m going to be extremely busy for the next month or two.”

“Me too.” Aiba cut in. “Not the project stuff; our manager is sending us all on this training camp for teachers. I only went out last night because I’m going to miss Kazamapon’s birthday while I’m away.”

If the other man was annoyed at having the thread of conversation snatched away, he did not show it. “I mean, I’d love to finish what we started, sooner rather than later but….”

“Right.” He tried to hide the pleased smile behind his mug, but the other man caught his gaze and the matching twinkle in his dark brown eyes made it impossible for Aiba to play it cool; that had never been his style anyway. “So maybe you can take my number and call me in a month or two?”

The man took out his phone, and in a few swipes, showed Aiba a near unreadable mail full of emojis and a selfie Aiba had clearly taken from the stylish couch across the room. “I already saved your number.”

 

Aiba’s hangover didn’t entirely disappear with the coffee, or the rather excellent French toast he was served a little later. Nonetheless, as he kicked off his shoes at the entranceway of his own home, seeing that both of his housemates were home, Aiba’s mood could not be dampened. On his way back, he’d gotten a text from his would-be date, a simple: [ _Returning your message, so you can save my number if you didn’t last night_.] At some point that morning, Aiba had missed the opportunity to ask his hosts name, so he saved the number under ‘Prince Charming’ and figured it was accurate enough for now.

The house he shared was a large two-story townhouse, far more luxurious than his modest salary as a Childcare Assistant would cover alone, but Sakurai Sho had invited him to move in when Aiba’s previous shared apartment became unaffordable once his best friend had decided to move out. Better still, because the house belonged outright to the Sakurai family, Aiba’s rent only needed to cover a share of the utilities and groceries, freeing up a significant portion of his income.

Although, living with Sho had its own drawbacks: Sakurai was an incredibly hard working, serious person, but he was a complete slob for six days a week, until his scheduled deep-clean. Actually, Sakurai scheduled everything down to the minute, which might have been difficult to put up with except that he was surprisingly willing to adjust his timetable to suit others. Which was precisely why Aiba did not hesitate to interrupt the man, despite the fact that he was clearly working from the home office that morning.

He did remember to knock the door, but entered straight away. “Morning, Sho-chan. I’m home.”

Sakurai’s hands paused at the keyboard as he welcomed Aiba home. “It must have been a good night.” He added.

“Yep.”

“How’s Kazama doing? Did he drive you home?”

For the next hour, Sakurai did not get any work done at all as Aiba told him all he could remember from the night and his morning encounter with Prince Charming. “It was nice,” Masaki sighed from the small armchair opposite Sakurai’s desk. “I thought it was going to be super awkward, but it was kind of like a morning date.  We talked for ages. He’s a year younger than me, but he runs his own business taking pictures or something, and he’s met a bunch of famous people doing it. And he’s a really good cook, and he likes fashion and he’s really good looking, but kind of intimidating until he smiles.”

While Aiba had rambled on excitedly, Sho’s patient smile slowly turned into a chuckle he could not suppress. “You know all this stuff about him, but you don’t know his name?”

He knew that it was ridiculous, but Aiba felt defensive. “After I knew that much, I couldn’t ask his name anymore.” He explained. Sakurai accepted his reasoning with surprising ease, which only served to remind Aiba that their other housemate would not be so lenient; Ninomiya never missed an opportunity to point out the lapses in Aiba’s common sense. In detail. Repeatedly. Aiba valued his input anyway, because behind the cutting remarks, Nino’s sharp mind often came up with just the advice Aiba needed. “Where is Nino?” He asked Sakurai after the silence stretched on.

“Sleeping. He was still filming when I got up this morning.”

“Again?” Masaki couldn’t help looking up, as if he could somehow see through the ceiling and into Ninomiya’s room on the second floor and discover just what the silver-tongued shut-in was up to. “Is he planning on sleeping through his birthday too?”

Sakurai turned back to his work absently. “Even if he’s awake, he’s not going to want to come out of his room anyway.”

“Aw, I can’t decide which of you is more pathetic in this situation.”

“Don’t you have to leave for your work trip this evening? Have you even packed?”

Lips pursed into a thin line while he gave an exaggerated shrug, Aiba took the teasing dismissal gracefully. Sakurai wasn't wrong, after all.

Aiba did not agonise over what to pack for the 3-day seminar, unlike the teachers in training that the event was targeted to, he wasn't looking to impress potential employers. He threw in a couple of pairs of jeans and the embroidered polo shirts that were half his uniform. All 5 members of staff from Himawari Daycare were being made to attend a slew of training and ‘professional development’ courses by their new owners, while the building itself was being refurbished. It was pointless busy work for the most part, but it was a choice between attending or taking 6 weeks unpaid leave, and even with his minimal living expenses, Aiba's savings would not stretch that far.

He snapped a picture of his open case on impulse and sent it to his would-be date, captioned entirely with travel related emoji.

Once his case was packed, and placed ready at the front door he returned to the living-room to find Sakurai and Ninomiya lounging together on the couch. Sakurai had moved his laptop to balance dangerously on the arm of the chair while he continued to work; his lap taken up by the youngest man, laying across the sofa playing some game on his phone.

“Oh, you’re up.”

Ninomiya didn’t look away from his game. “Good morning to you too.”

“It’s past 3 in the afternoon.” Aiba pointed out.

“Not in Morocco.”

Aiba let it go; Nino’s schedule often shifted to accommodate the people he invited to be in his video’s and it was just beginning to pay off for the man. It was a pittance, but his best friend had received his first pay from generated ad revenue just last month, and Aiba was proud of his growing success.

Sakurai shifted, forcing Ninomiya to sit up with some grumbling. “All ready to go Aiba-chan?” he asked, closing his laptop. “Nino’s making an early dinner.”

Surprised, and deeply touched, Aiba made sure his friends knew how much he appreciated the gesture, although Ninomiya protested loudly that it was a money saving measure and not his idea in the first place. “What other choice did I have,” Ninomiya Kazunari continued. “Sho-chan was threatening to cook a Bon Voyage meal for you himself. This is a case of self-preservation. Self-preservation.”

He didn’t buy it, but he allowed his friend the pretence.

As it turned out, their early dinner looked suspiciously like breakfast, but no one complained. And when Aiba’s phone, face down on the table, buzzed with a new message, Nino and Sakurai said nothing when Aiba couldn’t resist checking the device.

_[Love the jeans._

_Have a safe trip.]_

If they were quiet about letting him read the mail in peace, Ninomiya at least did hold back at the sight of Aiba’s grin: “What is it Aiba-shi? Did he send a dick pic?” Sakurai choked on his rice.

“He likes my jeans.” Aiba answered honestly.

“Isn’t it a little fast to be talking about kids?”

Aiba didn’t get it, but Sakurai laughed so he knew it was a joke. It was safer to change the subject than to ask Nino for clarification, however. “Thanks for dinner. Maybe I should make you a belated birthday dinner when I get back?”

Nino recoiled in mock horror. “You may _buy_ me a belated birthday meal next week. You cheapskate.”

“Wait a moment, you don’t even pay rent and _I’m_ the cheapskate!?”

“Obviously. My boyfriend’s family owns the place.”

Sho scoffed good naturedly. “Your boyfriend pays rent.”

“My boyfriend needs to think about whose side he’s on.” Ninomiya countered without missing a beat.

Ignoring their flirting, Aiba checked the time on his phone as he rose from the table. “I need to head out. I did get you a present; Sho-chan knows where it is, so he’ll give it to you tomorrow-”

“He’ll give it to me tonight.”

The lewd interjection earned Nino an elbow to the side from Sakurai, though Aiba continued like he hadn’t heard. He bid farewell to his friends and housemates, apologised for leaving them with the cleaning up and headed for the station on foot.

He met most of his colleagues at the entrance, and the staff of Himawari Daycare travelled together.

 

It was late by the time Aiba and his companions reached the venue, and later still before he was properly checked in and shown to the room he would be staying in on-site. As the only male member of staff, he was separated from the rest of his colleagues, but the nature of the conference meant there were a lot more men than there would have been if this event had actually been aimed at pre-school teachers and caregivers. He found himself bunking with two qualified teachers and one hapless newbie children’s TV presenter who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

He was settled under the covers of his futon, when his phone lit up next to him.

_[You left your bag in my car]_

The message came from Kazama, and Aiba was startled to realise how disappointed he’d felt at seeing the name. _[I didn’t leave it. You held it hostage when you took the keys with you and left with the girls]_ Once sent, he thought it sounded a little short, and quickly added: _[happy birthday tomorrow]_ with a picture of a cat eating a cake.

Then, because the phone was already in his hand, he quickly tapped out a message to Prince Charming. He must have written half a dozen ways to say he’d arrived safely and variations on goodnight, deleting each one without sending it. He was still drafting attempt number 7 when the text on the screen moved up to make room for the text that had been added to their correspondence.

_[Are you awake? Did you arrive safely?]_

Aiba didn’t hesitate. _[I was just writing to say that. That I arrived safely, I mean.]_

_[Of course, if you send a message to say that, you’d have to be awake.]_

_[How was work today?]_ Aiba sent bravely. His fingers itched as it took much longer for a reply to come then.

_[Really promising actually. Very different from stuff I’ve done before, but the exposure will be incredible. I’m still working on the concept for approval, but I’ll get there.]_

Aiba checked the time, his phone read 23:23. _[Are you working now?]_

_[ Yes]_

_[You should get some sleep. You’ll think more clearly in the morning.]_ Then Aiba recalled the man struggling gather his wits with his morning coffee. _[After your coffee anyway.]_ He added before Prince Charming could reply, decorating the mail with a wink.

 _[I tried...Couldn’t sleep.]_ Aiba was busy typing out an innocuous response when a second message came through. _[My bed smells of your cologne.]_

There were no emojis or decorations to tell Aiba if this was good or bad. Mouth suddenly dry, he erased his previous response and carefully picked out his next words, taking his time. _[Do you want me to apologise?]_

_[It’s distracting. I like it.]_

_[That’s good]_

_[What’s it called?]_

Aiba blinked at the screen, confused. He didn’t even think before sending a single question mark back.

The reply came just as quickly: _[Your cologne, what’s it called?]_

 _[I don’t know. It was a present.]_ Aiba could admit to himself feeling a little peevish. He didn’t know the name of the fragrance Sakurai had brought back from overseas, but he could have looked in the toiletries bag he’d brought with him.

It seemed like a long time before Aiba got anything back. _[Am I bothering you? Maybe I shouldn’t message you until we both have time to meet. But you were so easy to talk to this morning, I’ve been curious about you all day.]_

Mollified, Aiba wanted to say so much, though most of it would be incomprehensible through text, and he did not want to be misconstrued. _[I might not have time to meet, but I usually have time to talk. We can mail each other, can’t we? It’s kind of like having a pen-pal.]_ An incredibly sexy, disarmingly charming pen-pal, he thought, though he did not add the last bit.

_[Then, rather, I should save up all I want to say and write you a proper letter.]_

_[Oh!? Interesting. LET'S DO IT!]_ Aiba wrote back immediately, the last words a colourful preloaded image in English.

_[For now though, it’s nearly midnight so I’ll say goodnight to Cinderella-san]_

_[You’re calling yourself Prince Charming?]_ Aiba teased, but failed to mention that his thought process had followed the exact same route.

_[You never know, I could be your fairy godmother.]_

_[uh. No.]_

_[Ugly step-sister?]_

Aiba actually shook his head as he answered. _[No WAY!]_

_[Then what would you call me Cinderella-san?]_

_[You are totally Prince Charming!]_

_[Ah, see? You said it. I’ll gladly accept the title.]_ Then, in a separate message: _[Goodnight.]_

It took Aiba longer than usual to fall asleep that night because he had to keep stifling a giddy chuckle.

 

The conference itself was mind numbingly dull. So much so, that when Aiba caught his roommate TV presenter falling asleep, his head lolling perilously close to Aiba’s shoulder as they sat through a lecture, Aiba was tempted to join his nap. Still, instead of counting the days until he could go home, he was counting the hours until he could reasonably message his personal Prince Charming and beg to be rescued from crushing boredom.

He only managed until lunchtime.

_[You’re probably busy with work, but I have to warn you now: Don’t become a teacher. They have to go to school FOREVER. I don’t just mean because they teach there. Teachers seriously have to come to these things all the time, and there’s lessons and lectures and homework. Homework! It’s exactly like being a student except there’s no after-school clubs. But the food is OK I guess. And I got drooled on by a giant baby, so it was a little bit like a normal day at work too._

_Oh, and my manager said she wanted to talk to me about ‘my role going forward’ which sounds scary, but she said it was a good thing, so I don’t think I’m getting fired. Though if it gets me out of another two days of this, I might not mind it so much._

_Did you get your concept finalised? Oh, and I remembered the name of that cologne. Burberry Weekend for Men. One of my housemates bought it for me for Christmas.]_

Aiba didn’t really expect a reply until the evening, but he could not help keeping his hand clutched around the device in his pocket in case it buzzed to life. Frustratingly, he had four messages come through that afternoon: two from his mother, a thank you note from Nino for his present and a number he did not recognise that he didn’t get a chance to read before his manager Mita Shizuka was pulling him aside for their ‘chat’.

In her fifties, with a kindly, round face that made her appear perennially youthful, Mita had been managing Himawari Daycare for twenty years, and it was thanks to her efforts that so little had changed when the small family owned daycare had been purchased by the Ladybird Group.

“Aiba-kun? I wondered if I could ask for your help with something?” She began softly. “I have been asked to consult with the interior designer on the refurbishment. But I’m so often stuck in the office, and Kitagawa and Mii-chan only work part-time. You are the one who is best placed to know what will work for the children in the space we I have, I think.”

Aiba digested this for a long moment before he dared speak. “What do you mean? Can’t Assistant Manager Suzuhara do it? I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know anything about interior design.”

“You don’t have to Aiba-kun. You aren’t the designer. You just have to know enough about looking after children to know what _won’t_ work. And you spend the most time in the main room with the children.”

“...I don’t know…”

Mita, the perfect picture of innocence played her trump card. “Of course, it would mean you’d be too busy to attend any more conferences or seminars…”

“So, do I leave now, or wait for morning?” He was only half joking.

His manager laughed, the sound deflated Aiba’s half formed hope of leaving this place early. “I will pass your details onto head office, so they can put you in touch with the designer directly. After this trip is over, you will be working with the designer on the refurbishment, so won’t be expected to do any additional work.”

Well, it was better than nothing. Meeting concluded, Aiba fished his phone from his pocket as he left the room. “Uh, Manager Mita, Ma’am? Did you already give my details to head office?”

She had the grace to flush slightly. “What gave you that idea?”

“Because I have a message here about looking forward to working together from some Interior Designer named Matsumoto Jun.”

 

Aiba didn’t mind. Not really. Tackling new and interesting challenges everyday was part of the reason he entered the field of childcare in the first place. He had always known he did not want a job where days could be interchangeable. But he had chosen childcare to watch and help children grow, develop and learn, and the closest he’d ever been to worrying about colour palettes had been finger paint art for Tomo-kuns get well card from the children.

He gave a general sort reply to Matsumoto and went back to his room for the evening. He sent birthday greetings to both Ninomiya and Kazama again, and called his mother back before his temporary roommates returned from the bar. Prince Charming’s reply came just after Aiba returned from the shower.

_[Dear Cinderella-san,_

_I wasn’t really planning on a career change at this point, but I’ll remember your advice if it ever comes up. You must enjoy what you do though, right? It almost sounds like you are in line for a promotion._

_I spent today drafting concepts. Then went to an actual TV set to get some pictures on-site of the cast with their usual backdrop. It was very interesting. It’s also been a very busy day though, and I feel like I haven’t had a conversation that wasn’t about work. I’d rather talk about what we can do, and the places we can go, when we’re both free._

_Sincerely,_

_Prince Charming]_

Aiba groaned. Really, there was no way he was going to be able to _not_ respond straight away. So, he reread it three times until he stretched the limit of his patience and began keying his reply.

_[Prince_

_It wasn’t a promotion, but it does mean I don’t have to do any more of these boring things. I’ve never been to a TV station before; did you meet any big stars?_

_Do you like Chinese food? Or deserts? You’re a good cook, so I want to go somewhere you’d recommend really. Or I could show you where I bought my jeans. And we can go karaoke, if you like that sort of thing._

_We definitely should go dancing again. You’re a great dancer._

_Six weeks is a long time, huh?_

_I’m not very patient.]_ He was in such a hurry to hit send, he didn’t even notice that he forgot to sign-off properly.

Less than a minute later, the phone rang.

He answered straight away, but before he could utter a sound, the familiar voice filled his ears. “When we go dancing, will you run away at midnight?”

Aiba had to hold his breath to keep from gasping at the blatant suggestiveness in the younger man’s voice. He composed himself quickly, and responded in kind. “Why? Are you only in it for the chase?”

Aiba could practically hear the smirk in the other man's voice. “An interesting idea, but no. I have no intention of letting you get away without fulfilling all those promises you made the other night.”

He had no idea what he'd said that night, but Aiba silently sent a prayer of thanks to his drunken self. Whatever he had said had clearly made a big impression on the gorgeous stranger, and Aiba wasn't one to question his good fortune. “I’ll do my best not to let you down. So… dancing huh?”

“Among other things. Everything on your list for a start. Between that and your suggestions back then, I can tell that you're the type of man that's full of good ideas.”

Aiba's skin warmed with the compliment, and with another type of heat. “And what about you?” Voice pitched low, he cast fugitive looks towards the door; his roommates were surly due back any minute. “What kind of man are you?”

“The kind that brings ideas to life.”

Well shit. He was doomed. The combination of good looks, confidence and wit was killer. Really, now he knew why drunk him had been in a hurry to get the guy in the sack. He had no quick rejoinder for that remark though; it filled his head with a million half formed thoughts and stole the breath from his lungs all at once. The silence drew out for a few seconds more than would normally be comfortable before Aiba managed to murmur down the line. “No fair…”

Prince Charming exuded smug indifference. “Oh, why’s that?”

“Because I’m hours away from home, sharing a room with a handful of strangers who might come back any moment, and there’s nothing I can do about it when you talk like that.”

“There you go again: making me curious. What would you do about it if you weren’t in that hotel room? Or better yet, if you were here?”

Aiba whined. Embarrassment set him alight and he couldn’t keep himself from squirming. “I am not- don’t make- Ah! That’s just cruel.”

The line was quiet, but Aiba detected the huff of a nasal chuckle. “Seriously, you should think about it. I’m dying to know.”

“... As if I’d be able to _not_ think about it now…” Aiba muttered darkly, just loud enough to make sure he was heard. Then, louder he added: “I’m never going to last 6 weeks at this point. I hope you’re prepared to take responsibility for that?”

“Gl-

The door to the room clattered open, and Aiba jumped halfway off the floor. Instinctively he hid the phone in his lap, ending the call abruptly and trying not to look too guilty as the two high school teachers stumbled into the room. Face burning, though the men paid no attention to him, Aiba scrambled to excuse himself. Suspiciously early to turn in, he instead wandered to the toilet, trying to regulate his heartbeat.

Rationally, it had been an overreaction, he knew, but Aiba was prone to needless panic, and he wasn’t going to conquer the habit of a lifetime just like that. He sent an apology for the interruption and received a goodnight message in return.

Then his took his second shower of the evening. It was colder than the first.

 

The rest of the seminar was uneventful, and concluded on the Sunday morning with an optional brunch meet-and-greet, which Manager Mita gave her staff permission to skip. Aiba and Prince Charming had continued to write in the evenings, although they did not brave another call.

It turned out that the man was dealing with more work than Aiba had realised. Apparently, the project that he was so excited about was being delayed by some unexpected issues with a smaller job he had already thought he had completed. Until his employer had brought in a consultant and found fault with his work, and the offer for the larger project became contingent on the successful completion of the smaller (but infinitely more irritating) task.

Aiba didn’t pretend to understand half of the words his Prince used; some were foreign words he didn’t know and a lot of big words he simply couldn’t read. But Aiba offered sympathy and support. And the promise of a reward greater or equal to the pleasure of getting the TV job he wanted.

On top of all that, on the morning of the second day, Matsumoto Jun had sent him three different mock-ups of the completed refurbishment that Corporate had pre-approved and Aiba had hated them all. Which he had told the Designer as tactfully as he could in his email. They were too generic, or sterile, and like every other daycare.

Matsumoto had not found this criticism constructive, and had demanded that Aiba explain his reasoning better.

Which Aiba failed to do in a series of emails back and forth that became progressively more formal and polite and it became clear that they weren’t going to come to some friendly agreement that day. Those proofs were already signed off on my Aiba’s bosses, after all. Finally, Matsumoto had asked what Aiba expected him to do as far as changes went, but Aiba got no reply when he suggested the Designer start from scratch.

He was glad to be on his way home, thinking about the dinner he owed Nino, and the date he wanted with his Prince Charming, and trying _not_ to think about having to work with Matsumoto Jun later in the week. Aiba Masaki was used to getting along with most people, but he could feel Matsumoto’s irritation with him behind every email. It made him edgy, and he longed to be home, so he could get some face-to-face advice from his friends.

It was the middle of the day, but it was still a surprise to see Ninomiya awake, presentably clothed and puttering around the kitchen when he walked in. Belatedly, he noticed the extra shoes at the entrance, and heard the voice of Sho’s father drifting from the home office. “What’s going on?” He asked quietly, forgetting the more traditional greeting and putting the souvenir cream cakes straight in the fridge.

“Working visit.” Nino explained with a grimace. Ninomiya liked the patriarch of the Sakurai family just fine and they got on well, but the older man had been quite critical of Sho’s decision to pursue a relationship with an ‘under-employed lounge room entertainer, no offence Kazunari-kun’. Aiba could only imagine how the man would react if he learned that Sho had supported Nino in giving up his day job to make web shows about video games.

Sensing that his housemates would also benefit from some mutual venting that afternoon, Aiba took it upon himself to drag Sho and Nino out to eat practically on the heels of Sho’s father. On the walk over to a local family restaurant, and while they settled into a booth, Aiba distracted the pair by telling them about the seminar. At Sakurai’s request, he didn’t go into much detail about his mails with his someday-date, so he focused on his conflict with Matsumoto Jun instead.

To begin with, he complained about being asked to consult in the first place. Pointing out his lack of experience. Then he griped over the pre-approved proofs; why ask him if they’d already said yes to three awful designs? By the time he moved on to complain about Matsumoto Jun’s intractable pride, Ninomiya was rolling his eyes.

“Why do you care if this Jun guy likes you?” Sho asked, cutting Aiba off as the man muttered about turning up at the daycare with cake to apologise.

“I… I don’t think I’ve ever been disliked before.”

Sakurai’s eyebrows shot up at that statement, but Ninomiya was deadpan in his reply. “Nonsense; I dislike you 60% of the time. No, it’s closer to 65% today. Really. It’s a miracle we’re friends at all.”

“That’s OK. I like you enough for the both of us.”

“Gross. Anyway, if you want him to like you so much, just tell him you like his ideas.”

He had considered that, actually. And dismissed it just as quickly. “I can’t do that. I can’t let them make a place that the children won’t love.”

Aiba’s phone trilled from his pocket, and Nino’s expression darkened when habit had Masaki reading the screen right way.

_[Home safe?_

_Sorry I don’t have more to say. I’ve been working flat out to get this done by the end of the week and get it over with.]_

“So, which was it?” Nino asked lightly. “Prince Charming or the Devil Incarnate?”

“Prince.” He gave a smile and a shrug, tapping quickly on the screen. _[I’ve got some unexpected free-time until Thursday actually. If you’re done by then, maybe you could fit a coffee date into your day?]_

_[That sounds great, and shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll let you know.]_

He peered up from his screen to find Sakurai levelling him a look Aiba was more used to seeing his mother wear when she was waiting for him to figure out what he’d done wrong. Sheepishly, he planted the mobile device face down in the middle of the table and left it there. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Let’s order. Kazu? Hamburger steak?”

Nino nodded. “Obviously. But don’t let Masaki have anything spicy; I’m sick of his belly-aching.”

Sakurai smiled, but Aiba spoke out for himself. “But my stomach feels fine Nino.” Then Sakurai laughed so hard he slid down his seat.

In the centre of the table, Aiba’s phone vibrated. Three sets of eyes regarded the object as it moved slightly with each of the 4 rumbles that denoted an email notification. Aiba was the first to drag his eyes away, ignoring it with everything he had. He was quite proud of himself in fact. Besides, Prince Charming had a different notification tone. Still, Sakurai and Ninomiya were watching his phone like it might sprout legs, and nobody made a move to look at the menu or flag down a waitress. Long after the phone stopped buzzing, all three occupants of the booth were frozen in an odd sort of stand-off.

Ninomiya, with an exaggerated, frustrated _tsk_ , scooped up the phone. Instead of passing it to Aiba, Nino opened the mail himself, eyes narrowing as he read the message. “Wow. Matsumoto-san sure is keen…”

“What?” Using his longer reach, Aiba was able to pluck the phone out of Nino’s hands from across the table easily.

_[Aiba-san,_

_Good afternoon. I apologise for the short notice of this message. However, I have taken your suggestion of re-drafting the design options at this late stage, and have prepared additional proofs for your approval. I will be sending the files to you this evening. Should they satisfy you, I shall submit them to the General Manager at the corporate offices first thing Monday morning._

_Sincerely_

_Matsumoto Jun]_

He wasn’t even being dramatic when his head fell to smack the table top in despair.

And when Sho worried and fussed and wanted to know what was wrong, Aiba barely lifted his head to speak. He explained his tentative plans with Prince Charming, made just minutes ago and how it hinged on himself being free until Thursday. The issue he now had was that once Matsumoto had submitted a proof that had everyone's approval, his role would be over, and Aiba would be expected to project manage the task on-site to completion. Which meant, if Matsumoto got them signed off on tomorrow morning, Aiba would have no free time at all.

Ever resourceful, Ninomiya offered one solution. “Just tell him you hate it then. If you don’t approve it, then he has to come up with something else, right? That’s his job.”

“What if it’s good though? What if it’s amazing?”

“That’s easy. You just change your mind on Thursday.”

Torn, Aiba ruffled his own hair as though it might shake out a better idea. “That’s too dishonest Nino. It’s impossible for me.”

Sakurai was also giving Ninomiya a sideways glance, as if appraising exactly what kind of depths his boyfriend could sink to when needed. “Aiba-chan can’t lie like you can.” He noted, his cheeks rounding with his smile.

The smallest and youngest of them snatched Aiba’s phone back. “ _Fine!_ You want honesty?” His sneer might have seemed genuine to anyone else not familiar with the exaggerated head bobs he added as he spoke, tapping furiously at the screen at the same time. “Why don’t you tell Mr. Stuffy here that you don’t want to return to work until Thursday, so you can get coffee and a quickie from some rando you met at a bar a week ago? You’re entitled to your days off. Maybe he could join you, and you and Charming could help take the stick out of his ass.” He finished with a final theatrical flourish and Aiba watched with dawning horror as he realised Nino had hit send on whatever he had just written.

“What did you do!?” Nino didn’t resist as Aiba wrestled the phone back, frantically checking his sent folder.

_[Matsumoto,_

_I am currently unavailable to answer work related emails. Please be advised that I will look over the designs on Wednesday morning._

_Sincerely,_

_Aiba Masaki]_

Dear, sweet, relief. Aiba sighed. And the fake hurt look his best friend shot at him seemed to imply that Aiba was wrong to think Nino might actually screw him over. It wasn’t bad at all actually. Impersonal in a way Aiba could never be, but it wasn’t an outright lie, nor did it invite questions. “Huh, I should have Nino write all my emails, from now on.” He told Sakurai, who was leaning across the table to read the note for himself. “He’d make a great secretary.”

Aiba jumped as a foot connected with his shin under the table. “I’d rather not risk getting caught up in your weird Disney role-play sexting.”

“Sextin--? We don’t se--”

“It’s just a matter of time Aiba-shi.” Ninomiya spoke over his protests. “Just a matter of time.”

Sho finally had enough. “If we don’t order soon,” he grumbled. “I might start chewing on the menu.”

By the time the food arrived, and their drinks had been refilled, the topic had moved on. Sho’s work was beginning to pick up exponentially, and his father had taken an interest in the trajectory of his son’s career. Sho seemed pretty conflicted about this, but Nino appeared determined to have no opinion on it at all. It was rare enough that Nino did not voice his thoughts, even if he sometime couched them in other terms, but Sakurai clearly wanted Nino to say something about it either way.

Aiba wasn’t sure he wanted to touch that can of worms for his friends. A new email from Matsumoto proved a welcome distraction at that point:

_[Aiba-san,_

_I understand that it is through no fault of your own, however, the start of this project has already been delayed due to the issues raised with the previous proofs. As the project is 3 days behind schedule, I invite you to reconsider your availability, and to remember that getting this done promptly will correct the overrun._

_Sincerely,_

_Matsumoto Jun]_

Aiba showed it around the table and found himself getting more indignant the more he read it. Who did this Matsumoto think he was anyway? Nino pointed out, he obviously did blame Aiba for being behind, even though his own designs were the problem. And there was no way he knew why Aiba would be unavailable, so to suggest he could just… ‘reconsider’ it, was plain rude, he felt.

Aiba let his emotions guide him as he penned his response, occasionally taking cues from Nino.

_[Matsumoto,_

_Don’t feel bad about falling behind. These things happen. We were allocated much more time than we should need anyway.]_

This time, the phone was placed in the middle of the table expressly to wait for it to buzz. It only took a few minutes.

_[Aiba-san,_

_Simply looking at the new designs will only take a moment, and will allow time before Thursday for any changes required. Would that not be acceptable?_

_Sincerely,_

_Matsumoto Jun]_

Damn. He couldn't very well find fault with that logic. With no argument that would forestall Matsumoto, Aiba shrugged and gave up. He was about to write back when Nino told him not to bother, and Sakurai agreed with him.

“He already said he'd send the files tonight. Whether you look at them tonight or tomorrow or at 3AM on Thursday is up to you. You don't need to explain yourself to him.” Aiba was startled by the advice coming from Sho; the older man was the most driven worker Aiba knew, and would have jumped at the chance to make up lost time if it had been him. Aiba told him as much around mouthfuls of food, but Sakurai dismissed the notion. “Going back and forth like this isn't going to help your working relationship any. Sometimes it's best to be the first to say nothing.”

He'd never had to think about office etiquette as a Childcare Assistant, especially as the only person doing his exact role as part of such a small team. Aiba didn't like it one bit.

Eventually, the trio finished their meal, and with some cajoling, Aiba convinced Sakurai and Nino to join him for karaoke. It was obvious that the normally non-confrontational Aiba Masaki was avoiding having to check his email and thus decide on how to proceed, but even Ninomiya refused to remark on it.

Aiba was grateful for their tact.

Truthfully, his stomach was already tying itself in knots over Matsumoto Jun. The man was only doing his job, and Aiba had taken the potential threat to his love-life too personally. He had not helped their already somewhat fraught working relationship with his display today, and he probably did owe the designer a proper apology. That said, the damage had largely been done, and Aiba didn't want to miss his chance at a proper date over something that couldn't be helped.

Thinking around in circles gave him a headache, and Masaki threw himself into following the words of the latest one hit wonder and imbibing overpriced, watered down beer. It was barely dark out when Nino begged off as he had a midnight livestream planned, Sho stayed, queuing R&B anthems and adding a handful of side dishes to their tab.

The combination of alcohol, music and good company went a long way to restoring Aiba's natural exuberance. At some point just before midnight, sweaty and shirtless, Aiba took a selfie with his arm thrown around an equally dishevelled Sakurai and added a caption sure to amuse his best friend. _[Ah Kazu-chan, aren't we more fun than staring at a screen?]_

So close to Nino's recording time, Aiba didn't expect a reply, but it wasn't impossible, so he didn't bother to check the display when his phone pinged a moment later and he opened the new message.

 _[Who’s the hunk getting to second base before me?]_ It took a minute to notice that the message had come from Prince Charming. He was entirely too slow in realising that he had accidentally sent a potentially incriminating picture to the man he was courting.

Worry made for a sobering cocktail. [ _I’m sorry, that was meant for someone else.]_

_[I figured.]_

_[It’s just my housemate, Sakurai. I was just teasing one of my friends.]_

_[Are all your friends that good looking?]_ The text was embellished with an emoji deep in thought. During the quickfire exchange, Sho had abandoned the current song completely, subtly leaning into Aiba's leaner frame to read over his shoulder. The man laughed and Aiba made no effort to hide the string of text.

 _[Yes.]_ He was nothing if not honest.

 _[Well, at least now I know for certain that you like to tease.]_ Masaki yelped, pulling the phone to his chest while Sakurai cracked up and discreetly moved away to give his friend some privacy.

When Sho had finally calmed down enough to speak, he didn't so much talk to Aiba as talk at him: “Nino is right; it is a matter of time.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Answer your boyfriend.”

Aiba looked at his friend like than man had grown a second head. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, he is.” Sakurai countered. “You talk every day, have cutesy pet names for each other and are both too busy to actually get it on. You might as well be married. Besides, you sent a shirtless picture of yourself with another man and his first response was to crack a joke.”

He could not deny that the very idea left him feeling deeply pleased. Grinning, Aiba focused back on the conversation happening in his phone. The man had sent another message while Aiba had been talking to his housemate and Aiba didn’t want to lose the thread. He and Sakurai went home shortly after that, Aiba too busy flirting to remember to lighten the mood in the karaoke booth. Guilt niggled at him, but Sakurai was the forgiving type, and anyway, he and Nino lived in the same house and still did most of their talking via VOIP.

He woke late on Monday, the battery on his phone running low due to ‘window-shopping’ with Prince Charming, which consisted of sending each other links to shops or articles of clothing they liked and recommending certain brands. The memory brought a sleepy smile, but it was quickly dampened by the knowledge he’d be checking his email soon. The notification of Matsumoto’s email had come before Nino had left last night, but Masaki had avoided opening, or even mentioning the message. He couldn’t reasonably put it off any longer, however, as he dragged himself from beneath the covers, straight to his laptop.

He danced from foot-to-foot in his boxers, waiting for the computer to warm up. He needed the bathroom and his eyes had not yet adjusted fully to the screen, but he wanted this out of the way before he started his day properly. Possibly with a call to Prince Charming, as Aiba found he missed the man’s voice.

The body of the email simply told him that the files were attached, and Masaki downloaded the new designs. There were two, this time, not three. They were very distinct from each other, and starkly different from what Matsumoto had offered previously. And Aiba liked neither.

Gently, as carefully as he could, Aiba nixed them both. He remembered to praise the colour scheme of the first and the softer look of the second. But both designed lacked practical aspects. There wasn’t enough usable wall space, there needed to be a mix of storage options, some accessible, some secure, and areas needed to be more defined and less open-plan. His message was typed in a hurry, but he was proud of himself; he had learned from his previous encounters that the designer could be pretty vague when discussing his concepts, but wanted specifics when it came to criticism of his work.

Aiba tried to put it to the back of his mind and get on with his day, He completely forgot that his laptop mail settings defaulted to sending read-receipts, and when that notification arrived an hour later, his breakfast tuned to ashes in his mouth. He swallowed the suddenly unappetizing hunk of omelette and tried not to fidget. He told himself not to worry about it now; that Matsumoto wouldn’t reply right away anyway, but he watched his device like it was out to poison him.

Besides, he was wrong: Matsumoto’s email came through with only two minutes difference between the timestamp of the read-receipt and the reply. It also lacked any of the usual niceties.

 _[Are you kidding me? I find it incredibly unprofessional that you’d reject these designs out of hand simply because of our personal disagreements.]_ Aiba cringed at that line: It wasn’t true, but he understood that it might look that way. _[I will be on site tomorrow between 9 and 1, perhaps you could join me in person and we can discuss where these proofs have failed to meet your standards.]_

Oh, he was pissed. The lack of address made that clear, if the immediate, visceral response wasn’t clue enough. Heart thundering in his ears, a wave of anxiety had him tasting bile at the back of his throat and he had to remind himself to breath normally. He needed to face this, he knew that, before it got completely out of hand, but he also kind of wanted to crawl into the cave like darkness of Nino’s room and hide in there until it all blew over. For all his rapier sharp jabs and pointed elbows to Aiba’s gut, Kazu was always the first person to offer support and reassurance. And a place next to him in the nest of blankets and bedding he burrowed into during marathon gaming sessions.

That was before, though. When they shared the crappy apartment over the 24-hour coin wash with the temperamental tamper alarm on machine number 4, that was set off at all hours by its own spin cycle. Then Nino had met Sho, and the pair moved in together. Aiba had tagged along because he had nowhere else to go and Sakurai had made the offer, so Aiba didn’t think he should be monopolising all of Ninomiya’s rare bouts of empathy. That, and he never wanted to accidentally walk into on them in the middle of their own ‘games’ again.

Eventually, he did manage to reply, trying not to show how shaken he was.

_[Matsumoto-san,_

_That really wasn’t my intention. I just think, if we are going to the trouble, we should make Himawari the best place for the children it can be. I agree that talking in person will probably be better, and I can show you around the building._

_Please work with me tomorrow,_

_Aiba Masaki]_

The worry didn’t abate right away, but he was able to tramp it down somewhat. The incident had, at least, spurred him to make the call he’d wanted to all morning. Prince Charming picked up on the seventh ring. Not that Aiba was counting.

“Hey?”

“Hi…” It was more a sigh than a greeting, and a sombre one at that, so Aiba straightened up as if it might put more life into his voice. “Um, is now a good time?”

“Mmm?” The distracted noise he got for an answer should have been all that he needed to know that it wasn’t, yet the man at the other end of the phone was too kind by half. “Sorry. It’s fine. Just a little annoyed at myself.”

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“I was so sure I’d be able to finish this job early, and now it looks like I won’t. And I really wanted to see you.”

Aiba drew strength from the knowledge that he was wanted, and used it to beat his own disappointment into submission. “Just as well,” He confessed. “It turns out I’m not going to be as free as I thought. At this rate, it really will be another month until we’re in the same room again. And you kn- Huh? What’s that ringing noise?”

“Sorry. It’s my work phone. I have to take this…”

“Of course; you’re very busy.” Aiba was flustered, his words mashing together in a rush. “We’ll talk later!” He did remember to say goodbye, but it was after he had already hung up. It was just going to be one of those days.

 

For his first meeting with Interior Designer Matsumoto Jun, Aiba elected to wear his uniform tee and smock. It wasn’t stylish, but it did feel a bit like putting on armour. He also wore the jeans Prince Charming had favoured because frankly, Masaki needed the confidence boost that came with them. He’d spent nearly 24 hours working himself up to this meeting. Wondering what Matsumoto Jun might look like, whether his voice was as chilly as his tone implied. Or if his speech would match his writing style at all.

Aiba had hit the gym hard the previous evening, going through the paces vigorously so his mind wouldn’t be able to hold any thought except how tired he was. And when every muscle in his body had been stretched, and every breath burned as it filled his chest, Masaki had fallen into bed before Sakurai was home from the office. He’d slept solidly for ten hours, but he’d woken before six with entirely too much time to think. Not to mention an unread text from his Prince that he had deliberately not read yet. He was saving it for later in the day; as something to look forward to and until he’d have the time to talk -or text- properly.

Ninomiya had emerged from his room early, with a precarious stack of empty cup ramen, drinks bottles and snack wrappers falling from all the gaps the up-and-coming internet sensation had filled with litter in his tower of trash. Early was relative, of course, as it was obvious that the man had not slept yet. He quirked an eyebrow at seeing Aiba in his work uniform but stayed silent. For about five and a half seconds.

He dropped the recyclables into the sink from as high as he could, the mix of plastics clattering loudly in the quiet of the morning. He sighed dramatically, running the tap on high and rinsing the containers with as much fuss as possible. As Sho’s room contained the boiler, this was a tried and tested method of waking the man while claiming it was an accident. “What time will you be done?”

Aiba shrugged. “No later than 1. But it might only take 20 minutes for all I know.”

“If you want to come play in my room later, you can. I’ll be awake.”

Touched, Masaki didn’t say so because he knew Nino would hate that. He also suspected that the swift fingered gamer would be asleep by the time he left for the daycare, but he appreciated the open invitation.

Nino continued to go about his misnamed ‘morning routine’ with as many decibels as he could conceivably summon for each task. Sakurai must have worked late into the night however, because when Aiba left for work, Sho still hadn’t emerged from the room.

In spite of the fact he had a key to open the daycare, he waited outside the main entrance, twenty minutes early and too eager to be done. Time passed so slowly, Aiba went through every possible scenario for meeting Matsumoto that he could imagine. He planned to at least apologise for inconveniencing the designer, but after that, he had no idea how the man would react.

Would he hold a grudge, or be gracious? Could they pretend to be civil if they needed to, or would Aiba be starting a new argument every time he dared make a suggestion? Would Matsumoto Jun be as stern-faced and stone-cold as he feared? And how quickly could Masaki get through everything he wanted to say, so that the day might end and Aiba would never have to see him again?

He was so desperate to get away, that when Aiba saw his Prince Charming round the corner, heading straight for him, he assumed for a moment that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Then their eyes met, and the man’s long, easy stride faltered.

But he didn’t stop. Aiba felt the world lurch as he tried to make sense of what was happening around him then. “You… You work here?” The man pulled up just short of reaching out to touch the felt sunflower that decorated the front of his apron.

“Matsumoto-san?” He hadn't imagined this; how could he have? He pushed the name past his lips unwillingly, every part of him rebelling at the idea that gorgeous flirty, funny Prince Charming could really be the serious, strict Matsumoto.

Matsumoto appeared to be handling the situation better; his voice wasn’t as warm as it had been on the phone or over breakfast last week, but there was a hint of chagrin that took some of the sting out of the situation for Aiba. “I thought you were a school teacher.” He confessed.

Aiba wasn’t sure what to say to that. He tried to laugh it off, but his breath caught in his throat with the casual ease with which Mr-Tall-Dark and Sexy dropped a hand to Aiba’s hip, leading the Childcare Assistant towards the door. It took some fumbling and three or four stammered apologies, but Masaki finally had the door unlocked.

He went in first, and the already minimal physical distance between them shrunk to nothing when Aiba stopped dead in his tracks a few strides in. Matsumoto collided with his back, his expression full of concern at the stricken look Aiba wore.

But Aiba did not see Matsumoto’s care. He could only see the shell of the room he had spent so many years working in. It truly was a building site; stripped back to its frame, rubble and detritus littered the floor, dust covered every surface that remained. The daycare, once bright and colourful, full of lovingly crafted displays and carefully chosen learning aids, was a dark, dirty, grey box. Even the bright summer sunlight couldn’t penetrate the grime clinging to the windows.

But that was not the worst of it, because the colourful artwork was still there, the craft projects of attendees, past and present were still visible. Barely. Amongst the debris and the destruction were the smashed remains of misshapen yet much loved clay pieces. Torn and tattered paintings peeked from beneath other trash. Whoever had been tasked with clearing the room hadn’t removed or saved a single item; tearing the room apart with sledgehammers and crowbars without a thought or care for the irreplaceable mementos.

If he had known, if any of the staff had been told ahead of time, Aiba knew they would have taken care to store everything safely. Work wasn’t supposed to start until after the proof were approved after all. The staff, however, had been ushered out under the impression that the refurbishment was nothing more than a fresh coat of paint, new flooring and different furniture. The exposed plumbing, and the old electric cabling, hanging lifeless from the beams, told another story however.

Aiba blinked back tears.

“Aiba-san? What’s wrong?”

“This…” It was hard to speak past the lump in his throat, and at every syllable, actual tears threatened to fall, but he couldn’t stay silent after Matsumoto posed the question. “It’s all a mess.”

The designer shrugged, not quiet understanding the breadth of Masaki’s pain. Yet he seemed to sense that filling the silence was the best way forward. It gave Aiba time to organise his thoughts. “Oh, I was surprised too, when they gave me the pictures of the room to work from. Usually, I’d have images of what it looked like _before_ a crew is sent to clear stuff. You know, in case there are features that can be kept or repurposed or recycled. When I asked, they said the building failed its safety inspection so thoroughly, that they nearly simply bulldozed the lot. Apparently the manager talked them around to a full remodel.”

Masaki nodded along, lips pressed shut as he processed the new information. He should be pleased, he acknowledged, that the children's well-being was so fiercely guarded. But the way it was done; so much was lost. So much history and shared accomplishments discarded like garbage.

Matsumoto tried to console him: It was just ‘kids’ stuff’ at the end of the day, he said. The children at the daycare, all under 6, would not remember what was lost, so there was no harm done, right?

Aiba disagreed. Firmly, and with more conviction than he applied to most things. “You don’t understand. They’re children, not goldfish. They _made_ these things with their own little hands. Kids don’t get to do much for themselves. Even when they play, they’re told where and for how long. When they make something they’re proud of, it’s the most important thing in the world because they did that: Something exists that didn’t before. That’s a powerful thing when you’re powerless. Even if they don’t remember the specific things, if they come back and those things are just gone…. If the people you trusted had gotten rid of your precious things without warning, wouldn’t you feel betrayed? Maybe next time they won’t trust so quickly, or be afraid to create anything at all. _That’s_ why it matters: because it isn’t just kid stuff, it’s the stuff that shapes them as human beings.”

He hadn’t meant to lecture the designer; had not intended to espouse his views on childcare so strongly. Though, remembering the five failed designs, Aiba thought privately that the man could probably use the education; he obviously lacked direct experience with young children. Searching for some way to lessen the tension that held him stiff and made it difficult to meet the other man's eyes, Aiba was unprepared for the friendly clap on the shoulder he received.

Matsumoto regarded him with such warmth, and the hand resting on him stayed, steady and firm. The finely chiselled features of his face, which Aiba had thought of has sharp and unforgiving, softened. He wasn't smiling the crooked closed mouth smile that Aiba remembered from the bar, or the full, laughing grin Aiba had earned over breakfast, but there was a quiet sort of happiness that shone out, and drew him in.

“Let’s see what we can salvage.”

It was the sentiment that reminded Aiba that Matsumoto Jun and his Prince Charming were one and the same. His heart swelled, and he agreed enthusiastically to the plan.

For hours they dug through the piles of rubble, collecting together the least damaged pieces and trying to unflatten squished cardboard dioramas. He did not focus on what was lost, and Matsumoto helped by listening patiently whenever Aiba told the story behind a handmade birthday card or a glittery paper crown that a bit of sellotape would fix. He got excited right along with the Childcare Assistant when he found a mostly intact A3 display board with a mosaic of the beach made of painted sheets of pasta and Aiba shared all his favourite things about his profession.

In return, Matsumoto talked about his own dreams. He liked Interior Design, but he really wanted to design sets for film and television. He'd been excited when a friend had given him the opportunity to submit concepts to a new TV show, due to start filming in September. He'd even visited sets of similar shows to get ideas, and been allowed to attend the promotional event that had revealed the name and backdrop of the musical children’s show.

“But I can't really start that job properly until I've finished this one.” He was elbow deep in dust when he said that, though there was no real heat to his complaint. “You didn't know that, right? That I wanted to finish to start on another project?”

Masaki had to think about his answer; he'd known it of Prince Charming, but not of Matsumoto Jun. He made the distinction.

“Right. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I'm glad you wanted to see me - I've wanted to see you too - but rejecting my second proofs for that reason…”

“Oh, I didn't say no to avoid work!” Aiba was quick to reassure the man. “They really were no good.”

The words, casually said, hung between them.

“Ah- I mean- That is… er…” While Aiba floundered, Matsumoto levelled a cool stare in his direction, the arch to his eyebrow quirked dangerously, but the ghost of a smile giving him away. Aiba continued: “Not that it can be helped, it would be difficult to get right if you didn't know what the room looked like before.” He noted diplomatically.

“In that case, I'll accept your guidance in this.” The tone was breezy, but the words sincerely meant.

They were nearly done; their pile of salvageable works too small and depressingly filthy, but it was all they could do. It had taken hours, and the pair were caked in dust, grimy and tired from the unexpected physical labour, and it was well past lunch time. It was Matsumoto who suggested they stop to eat, and pointed out that they could have their coffee date after all. It was Masaki, however, who reminded the designer that they weren’t really dressed to dine in public.

Which was how Aiba Masaki ended up inviting Matsumoto Jun to his home.

It was only a few blocks away, which had factored heavily in his decision to accept Sakurai’s offer to move in along with Nino, and it didn’t occur to Aiba to be nervous about having Matsumoto in his space. They had lived inside each other’s pockets for a week, making no secret of their mutual desire to spend time together, so it would have been stranger to refuse the opportunity.

After getting cleaned up, Aiba fed them both from the collection of convenience store meals and left-over take-out from the fridge. Talk centred around work, and after finishing their meal, Matsumoto pulled his laptop out at the table and opened his design software. With his previous proofs as a benchmark, and Masaki’s real-time contributions, they were halfway to a finished project before either noticed the hours had flown by. There was an easy comradery to the way they worked. Matsumoto’s technical skill and experience tempered some of Aiba's wilder ideas and he found innovative ways to incorporate non-standard features that would fit the setting. In the end, rather than letting Matsumoto come up with the design on his own, and then accepting or rejecting it, Aiba helped from the start.

“Matsumoto-san?” They had finished, and had already emailed headquarters to arrange for the new design to be approved. The food cartons and dishes were cleaned away and they were running out of innocuous reasons to loiter at the table. Aiba wasn't ready to part ways just yet though, not if it meant waiting another month to see his Prince Charming again.

The designer smiled. “You can call me Jun, if you like.” He said, a hint of colour rising up his neck.

Aiba was very attuned to the line of his neck; it was the first time he'd seen the other mans vulnerability under the smooth charm. “Uh, then, call me Masaki. Um, I just- once this is submitted, we won't be working together anymore, right?”

“Right. I need to focus on the set pieces for _Stories & Songs. _You've given me some great ideas for it though.” Matsumoto’s eyes shone with his excitement, the kitchen lighting catching the different shades, so the colour seemed to swirl like brandy. “It's not a Daycare or a nursery, but the children who come to the show won't be actors, right? So, I need to keep them in mind.”

“You must be excited to move on to it, huh, Matsu-er-Jun. Matsujun.” Aiba felt himself getting flustered, as the words he wanted to say tumbled around his head but refused to coalesce into a recognisable sentence.

“I am.” He answered simply, but he also seemed know what Aiba was struggling to say, because he added: “But I don't think I can stay away from you that long. Not now.”

The casual confession, and the utterly straightforward way Matsumoto expressed his interest had attracted Masaki from the start. It wasn't that the man was cocksure or arrogant; he was confident and unafraid of rejection, sure, but he was the first to risk his ego to get what he wanted. He made it easy for Aiba to be brave too. Made him feel less of a lovesick fool.

Wait.

 _Love_ sick?

It had been a week!

A week spent talking about every aspect of their lives, the mundane and the monumental. Maybe it was too soon to call it love, but for Masaki, it wasn’t too soon to think that it might become that. He was suddenly struck by the intimacy of their situation: Lunch served and cleaned away, work long since completed, they sat side by side at the small dining table. Elbows braced on the surface, unconsciously leaning into each others space so that Aiba’s field of vision was taken entirely by the other man.

Jun was wearing clothes borrowed from Aiba's closet, smelling faintly of his detergent and whatever soap Sakurai kept in the bathroom. And he didn’t pull away when Aiba leaned in to press their lips together.

Memories of the night they nearly spent together sparked at the contact. The urge to replace the fuzzy recollections stole his breath as Matsumoto raked his fingers through the hair at his nape, steering the kiss and keeping Masaki there. But his memory was unreliable anyway.

He hadn’t remembered that Jun liked to take the lead almost immediately. He’d forgotten the way the man held him still, tasting him with quick, open mouthed kisses until Aiba was rocking in his chair to deepen the contact. He recalled that smirk though; the speculative half smile that turned the austere features of his face into something altogether more mischievous.

His past experience had only gone so far, however, and when Jun breathed his name while following the line of Aiba’s jaw with his lips, Aiba moaned at the new sensation. He jerked away, taking Matsumoto by the wrist and dragging them both to their feet. His own chair toppled backwards in his haste. “I can’t wait a month to see you again either.” He was already marching them both out of the shared dining room towards the privacy of his room. Even if they were only going to make out, he didn’t want any potential interruptions from his housemates.

Matsumoto followed along, but there was nothing meek in the way he strode at Aiba’s heels, his free hand reaching out to graze Aiba’s back, his waist, then his hip. Beyond the door, he pressed himself to Aiba’s back, and they soaked up each others warmth.

Aiba let his head fall back against Jun’s shoulder, eyes closed and knees spread to compensate for his greater height. Skilled hands found their way under the fabric of his t-shirt, fingers playing along his ribs while he squirmed from the ticklish caress with a huff.

Having exhausted his supply of patience, he spun out of reach, facing Jun directly. “Do you…”

Jun stopped. Hands paused mid-air as he’d reached for Masaki. “Do I, what?” he repeated. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you want to… finish what we started the other night?” If he was flushed before, his skin burned with heat at the words he used. He didn’t worry about sounding desperate or too eager, they’d made no secret of it before, but saying it out loud, in person, and watching Jun’s reaction, coiled lust inside him. Tension wound in his gut, spreading tight and waiting to snap with a single word from Matsumoto.

Jun didn’t answer right away. Masaki teetered on a knife edge of arousal and frustration and the designer paused to consider the implications seriously. “Ethically, we shouldn’t. Not while we are working together. I’ve never been the type to mix my professional and private life.” He did not allow Aiba time to absorb that statement before continuing: “Though it’s a little late for that _now_.”

“Then, after your design is approved-” He tried to sound upbeat.

“No. I already told you I can’t wait anymore. It’s pointless anyway. I tried to stay away so I could focus on work, but I ended up thinking about you all the time, or calling you, or writing.”

“I’m sorry. I-”

Jun closed the gap that had formed between them, his hand curling gently around Masaki’s neck, the pad of his thumb stroking along his jawline. “Besides, it turns out you make my work better, so why fight it?”

“You mean-?”

“I mean, for my next job, I might need to consult a childcare professional every now and then. So really, there’s no hurry.” Jun kissed him once, “But,” twice. “Why wait?” on the third time, he subtly pressed Aiba towards the bed. “We’re clearly not very good at waiting.” Aiba didn’t stop him again.

The bed was unmade, and a damp towel from earlier had been thrown across it, But Aiba simply swept everything but the sheets unceremoniously to the floor, using the moment to pull off his own t-shirt and add it to the pile. He climbed atop to mattress in nothing but his worn Levis  and half expected to have to beckon the designer over. Except Jun was already there, practically straddling Masaki’s legs before he’d so much as had a chance to break out his come-hither look.

Not that Masaki minded. He let himself be pinned under the other mans weight and enjoyed every moment of Juns hands skimming along his skin.  His own fingers pressed deep in the muscle of Jun’s broad shoulders as Masaki leveraged himself higher to recapture his mouth.

It was a disorganised scramble as they each tried to explore every inch of the other all at once, and Aiba bumped his head on Matsumoto’s chin twice before the younger man took charge of the situation. He took Masaki by the wrists and held his arms to his sides while he glided down Aiba’s bare chest. Jun kissed a winding path down his sides, over his stomach, tracing the lines of Aiba’s abdomen with his tongue.

Aiba, unable to do much else, gasped for air, eye squeezed shut and back arching off the mattress. Restless with need, he twitched at every hot breath that blew over his skin. He wanted to rake his own hands through Jun’s inky black hair, to pull off the mans shirt and return the torturous favour. He gave an experimental tug of him arms, but Jun held him still.

Their eyes met, Jun looking through impossibly long lashes up the length of him. At the sound of Masaki’s muffled groan, the corners of his mouth turned up into a pleased smile, his teeth casually grazing the denim at the waist of Aiba’s jeans.  He jumped, biting back a laugh that dissolved into a curse when a knock sound on his bedroom door.

“Aiba-kun?”

He calculated the risk of imminent homelessness against the very real frustration he was feeling in the fraction of a second it took him to reply: “Nobody's home Sho-chan!” And if Sakurai couldn’t see his gritted teeth and barely restrained ire, he was less likely to be thrown out on the street for being rude to his housemate-come-landlord.

Matsumoto got a front row seat to the display of emotions Aiba couldn’t hide however, but he seemed only mildly amused as he pulled back slightly to witness the exchange.

“I uh, just wondered if you wanted to join me and my father in a drink,” Sakurai’s voice travelled through the door, carefully enunciated and overly verbose. “Because I have just arrived home from work and my father has joined me. So I thought you and your guest could join us. My father and I, who are both here, right now. In this house. Because, you know…. My. Father. Is. _Here_.”

Sho had barely got halfway through his recital, which got terser and as it went on until it ended in a hissed whisper from the other side of the wall, before Aiba was wide-eyed and pushing Jun away. “Ah, oh…um, we’ll be -ah, right- right out.” As he spoke, he was searching for his t-shirt, smoothing down his hair and trying not to panic. Infuriatingly, Matsumoto simply rose gracefully from the bed, calmly smoothed his hands over his clothes and strode over to the door.

Aiba was still trying to mistakenly cram his head through the sleeve of his top when Matsumoto Jun opened the door and suavely thanked Sho for the invite, suggesting that Aiba could join them when he was ready. He couldn’t see properly at that point, but he heard the pair moving down the hallway towards the stairs, making polite conversation.

“So, you must be-”

“Yes, Matsumoto Jun. it’s nice to meet you.”

Masaki had never actually heard anyone fall out of step with another person quite so abruptly. “Eh!? But I thought-” While Sakurai continued to stammer out some sort of platitude to keep his proverbial foot out of his mouth, Aiba smiled just a little smugly to himself. 

He'd have to explain the situation to Sakurai later.

Much later.


End file.
